


my heart/your home

by englishsummerrain



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Childhood Friends, General Coming of Age Vibes, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23342134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/englishsummerrain
Summary: Chenle Zhong is an eighteen year old boy. Chenle Zhong doesn’t know how to be careful.
Relationships: Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 65
Kudos: 325





	my heart/your home

**Author's Note:**

> this was for a speedwrite for the prompt - ribcage. just know it started with jisung's fingers on chenle's ribs, and expanded from there <3 i love these two boys, and it's a joy to finally write them as a focus.
> 
>   
> [music vibes](https://open.spotify.com/track/6gSw5vz7dcafda23VqMrnl?si=8Grs-gZSTbqtd9OB0r-fRQ)

By the time the last school bell he’ll ever care about rings, Chenle’s locker is already cleared out. Magazine cutouts and postcards from his sister stuffed into his bag alongside a yearbook full of pages warped with the weight of the marker signatures on the pages. Chewing on the last stick of gum from someone else's packet as he watches Chaeryeong push open the hallway doors and yell to the brilliant blue sky:

"See you in Hollywood, suckers!"

The birds sing. The school buses aren’t here yet — it’s barely past noon, and the kids from out of town are milling around on the front lawn, talking to their friends and trying to catch rides from anyone who owns a car. Chenle waves at Yerim as he undoes the chain on his bike and pulls it from the rack, making promises to hang out at some point before he leaves for college. Normally he’d wait for Jisung, but his bright red bike is missing. He’d left early — information relayed through a text that said if he wasn't home when Chenle got out to just let himself in. 

His house isn’t Chenle’s first stop. He heads towards the quarry, along uneven roads past the main shopping street and down through the grooves of oaks rustling in the breeze, humming to himself, newfound freedom not quite settling in yet. He has to go home — get his swimming trunks and his Switch. Pilfer some snacks from the pantry. Pick out a change of clothes even though half of his wardrobe is mixed with Jisung’s now. 

Chenle’s foot hits the sidewalk and his bike tilts sideways as he dismounts. He wheels it through the front gate, pausing to check the mailbox under the vain hope he’s forgotten about some online shopping. The petunias in the window box haven’t been watered in weeks and they’re wilted and brown — same as the grass — turned to parchment in the summer heat. His bag is full of books he’ll never need again and he upends it in the front hall on top of a pile of Chinese gossip magazines that belong to his aunt.

High school is over. His history textbook is the last to hit the ground and he gives it a kick like it'll fight back — payback for all the hours spent in a stuffy classroom pretending to care about some long dead old men. 

Adios, Napoleon.

On the back porch he finds his mother, cigarette burning low between her fingers. The dog is asleep at her feet and Chenle gives the pup a pat on the head — not enough to make her stir — and his mom a kiss on the cheek, tells her he’s going out. No question, just insurance if she realises her son hasn’t showed up in a while. 

He's restless. Careless. School is over. It's fucking over. He's free for the entire fucking summer — free to spend the days with Jisung. His mom waves a hand at him and tells him she loves him. She knows the routine. 

“Take care!”

“I always do!” he replies, despite the fact he knows it’s a lie.

Chenle Zhong is an eighteen year old boy. Chenle Zhong doesn’t know how to be careful. Last month he almost broke his arm skateboarding. The month before he fell out of a tree. Three months before that it was the dead of winter and Jisung pushed him into their frozen pool and Chenle cracked the ice. He’d climbed out and stripped right there, throwing his soaking clothes at Jisung one by one until he was flailing and soaking wet — then pushed him into a snowbank. 

The two of them had snuggled in his bed that afternoon — electric blanket on, spine to spine. Snow fell outside the window and Jisung’s cat purred where she slept in the bracket formed by his bent knees.

Warm, warm. 

He's peddling down his street, dappled shadows of oak trees cast across the lumpy surface of the road. It's all empty. Most of the parents are still at work. Most of the kids are still at school — only a few seniors free forever. It's just Chenle and the birdsong, just Chenle and the rattle as he switches gears and bolts down the centre line.

It's three minutes thirty to Jisung's house — give or take time for senior citizens in their sedans and how fast Chenle wants to ride. It was almost four minutes when he was ten, but puberty has done him well. He's taller, faster — stronger. Most of the time he can listen to a whole song if he hasn't taken his headphones out since leaving school — but Chenle had left his headphones on his desk. 

Jisung's brother is in Canada, and his mom and dad have gone on holiday. The house is theirs — just like it's always been. He doesn't need headphones when he can use the stereo. He doesn't need to care about it when it's just him and Jisung.

Reckless boy Zhong Chenle — but not without reason.

It has advantages. It makes Jisung laugh. It makes him blush when Chenle leans into his personal space and whispers nonsense to him. It’s just to see him squirm — of course. He’s the class clown, always the jokester. Mouth bigger than his head and twice as fast as his brain. Always goofing off, spitting wise cracks, or picking his books to shreds with fingers that just don't stop moving. He's loud and brilliant, and it's as much a shield as it is anything else.

Chenle has a reputation for doing the stupid things — and that’s why he gets away with them. Shit like talking back to the teacher. Shit like what's happening right now — doing a backflip off the diving board into Jisung’s pool and shaking out his hair like a woolly dog right into his face. Jisung pushes him away with a laugh and Chenle responds by diving under and pulling his feet out from under him.

He gets away with everything. Dumping water on his head. Tackling him. Arms wrapped around his waist for seconds too long, fingers digging into Jisung’s muscles as he shouts at him. 

Sneaking glances when Jisung climbs out of the pool. 

Well, less a glance. More a long stare. He’s only human, after all.

The rippling muscles of his back formed from years of playing volleyball. Water clinging to his calves. The way his biceps strain when he lifts himself up. His trunks cling to his body and Chenle plays a dangerous game — but it's what makes him him. He's risking it all every day — and isn't that the best thing in the world? 

Jisung Park is awkward — but he’s a star. He’s every girl’s crush — but only Chenle gets this close.

Only Chenle Zhong, eighteen years old. 

So very reckless. 

“Jinsol's looking at you,” Chenle says, when they’re sitting in class together, lazy summer sunlight streaming through the window, chatter floating around them. He flicks a pencil eraser at the side of Jisung’s head and grins when Jisung frowns at him.

“She always looks at me,” he mumbles, rubbing his cheek. “I don’t know what her problem is.”

“She likes you.”

“Fuck off.”

Chenle lets his gaze meet Jinsol's and shrugs at her.

He gets away with everything. 

It’s summer and Jisung’s sneakers are strewn across the hallway and their clothing is dumped on the floor of his room in a pile, and they’re lying on his bed on their towels, Jisung curled up on his side with his head resting on Chenle’s chest. There’s music playing on his bluetooth speaker — another obscure band that’ll never come to their small town.

Jisung’s fingers trace his ribcage, walking across the grooves of his bones. His pointer on the freckle over his heart. Middle finger on the scar under his nipple, where he’d jumped a chain link fence shirtless and scratched himself. Another scar under his ring finger — wipeout while skating. Cluster of freckles over his clavicle — Jisung’s favourite.

_ It’s like a constellation _ .

Oh, Chenle is reckless. Chenle is so reckless.

“Your heart’s pounding, dude,” Jisung says. “Are you okay?”

He’ll be reckless until the day he dies.

He'll be reckless when it's midnight and the stars are thick in the sky and he's lit in forensic blue by the underwater lights of the pool. Moths flutter around their heads and Jisung spits a stream of water at him like a human hose — all gross and filled with germs.

"How's it taste?" Chenle asks, as Jisung spits the remainder into the pool.

"Chlorinated."

He's reckless because he's in love. 

He's in love and there's a nagging reminder at the back of his mind that this might all be going away. The boy he met at kindergarten isn't sure what college he's going to, but it might not be Chenle's. The boy who taught Chenle how to dam up the creek when he was nine years old might be halfway across the country. The boy who took Chenle to his middle school formal — who danced with him and told him he was the best friend he'd ever have — might be back in South Korea with his aunt and uncle. The boy whose tears have soaked the fabric of Chenle’s favourite shirt more times than he could ever count could be somewhere Chenle won't see him every day. 

Somewhere Chenle's bike can't take him.

No, that's a lie. Chenle would ride a thousand miles for Jisung if he asked. He’d learn to drive — learn to fly, if he had to. Just to cross the ocean and fit the puzzle pieces of their bodies together once again.

The memories play across the screen of his mind like a film reel, flickering, projector bulb so hot it’ll burn him if he tries to stop. Chenle can't cry — he hasn't cried since he was fourteen — but he feels dry tears in his eyes all the same. Choked up and dumbstruck. His heart hurts. His throat closes up and he throws a handful of water at Jisung, half hearted. Just a response. A diversion. 

The neon glow of Jisung’s face looks unreal — a chiaroscuro of shadows and beams of light and the whites of his eyes, his pitch black pupils trained on Chenle. 

"What?" Jisung says.

"I'm cold. Let's go inside."

He doesn't shower. Jisung does. He comes back smelling like Old Spice and generic soap. He comes back and Chenle is already under the covers playing with his phone. The bed dips. They're here again. It always comes back here. Jisung's bed — where they swapped stories as ten year olds. Where they watched scary movies together in middle school and stayed up all night because neither of them could sleep. Where in the midnight gloom Chenle has wondered a hundred times what it would be like — just this once — to kiss Jisung.

God, it's all wishful thinking.

"Ugh, you stink," Jisung says. Chenle kicks a foot out and catches him in the knee. Jisung doesn’t react, he just shoves at him with the open palm of his hand. "Move over."

They don't bother with pretences. Chenle flattens his chest against Jisung's spine — curves his hips away to avoid another awkward morning. He throws an arm over his torso and spreads his palm against the fabric of his tank top, soft and worn. Workout clothes turned into sleepwear. 

_ I always sleep better when you're here. _

Jisung used to have night terrors. Used to wake up screaming that he was being chased, that their town was going to be torn up by a tornado, that everyone around him was dead. Chenle would crawl into bed with him, cradle him, bury his nose in his hair and tell him he was okay. It was okay. He’s not naturally good with intimacy — good at a lot of things, but not at comfort — but with Jisung it comes naturally. 

“Chenle,” Jisung says. His chest vibrates gently under his touch. 

“Hmm?”

The crickets are chirping. A dove coos outside the window, and far off someone’s dog is barking. Chenle worms his leg between Jisung's and rests his forehead against the nape of his neck. There’s silence for a time — only the midnight symphony and the soft puffs of their breathing.

“Remember when I asked you to prom?”

Chenle chuckles. “Yeah.”

He almost hadn’t gone. No-one had asked him. 

Turns out no-one had asked Jisung either. Or they had but — 

“People asked me, but I wanted to go with you.”

Sitting on the bleachers in their high school gymnasium — the only building in the school less than ten years old. Chenle in a suit too big for him. Jisung’s is too small, bulging in weird places to accommodate his endless growth spurts. Streamers on the floor, disco lights spinning. Celine Dion on the speakers, coke in their glasses, couples making out — and worse — in the shady corners. Jisung’s shoulder bumps against his and Chenle turns to see him grinning, too much gum, eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“I know,” Chenle says. An owl hoots outside the window and Jisung’s hand comes up to cover his. “What about it?”

Another long stretch of silence. The first night of summer is the same as it’s always been — the two of them together on Jisung’s double bed, curtains breathing in the soft breeze. Body to body, fit together like it was always meant to be this way. Even when their growth spurts didn’t line up — even for those few months when Jisung was tiny and Chenle couldn’t control his limbs. Even when Jisung broke his leg and Chenle had to deal with his cast scratching him. 

“Was just thinking about it again.”

Under the lowlights, slow music playing. Chenle leads the dance, even though Jisung is far better on his feet. His heart thunders and Jisung looks so pretty, his hair knocked out of place by Chenle’s hands from earlier, tall and full of joy, so very boy.

“Don’t get sentimental on me.”

“I’m not being sentimental.”

On the field afterwards, football floodlights artificial moons above their heads. Everyone filtering out to after parties, but Jisung had promised his mom he’d come home. Chenle’s coming too. Chenle always comes. They’re a two for one deal. Jisung’s picking party streamers out of Chenle’s hair and he’s grinning, all the stars in the sky nothing compared to the way his eyes glitter. His lips are bright pink and Chenle wants to kiss him.

He always fucking wants to kiss him. He’s lying in Jisung’s bed, he’s hanging off the edge of the pool, they’re riding along the riverside together, words swallowed by the rush of the current. He’s hanging out the window of Jisung’s brother’s car, Metallica blasting from the speakers, Jisung doing air guitar in the seat beside him. Jisung runs to the bleachers as the gymnasium erupts in cheers and it’s Chenle he looks for first.

It’s always him. It’s always him. 

Chenle is so fucking reckless, but Chenle will never do this. He will never break this bond they have — he will never ruin it. It’s like someone’s reached into his chest and pulled his ribs open, one by one. This ache in his heart, the way his guard falls down. 

“You sure sound like it.”

“Shut up. Don’t worry about it. Go to sleep, Chenle.”

Chenle drives his knee up in a feint, stopping well short of causing Jisung any pain but still causing him to squeal and squirm in his arms. 

“Don’t emotionally blueball me.”

Jisung wiggles, again. Ass backing up and rubbing against Chenle for a second, Jisung laughing. “I’ll give  _ you  _ blue balls.”

“Fuck  _ off _ .”

  
  
  
  
  


Morning light. Chenle wakes first. Meow has joined them — asleep at the head of the bed, her tail inches from Jisung’s nose. Chenle doesn’t dare move to pat her, but she stirs anyway, her green eyes meeting his. It’s a strange covenant, the three of them sharing this bed. The two of them sharing Jisung’s space. He’s a blazing furnace against Chenle, and it’s just how he likes it. Winter boy, summer heat. His warmth no matter where.

Chenle presses a kiss against the back of his head. Breathes in the scent of his hair — dollar store shampoo. Thick and shiny, a 180 from last summer, where he’d bleached it honey blonde and left it the texture of straw. 

“You know I’m awake,” Jisung says. Voice heavy and thick, like he’d just climbed out from under a bog. Swaying in the grip of the dreams that haven’t quite left his mind — caught in the limbo of consciousness and sleep.

Chenle freezes. He’s pressed up against Jisung — no space between their bodies, anywhere. Leg thrown over his, a spider monkey clutching onto his back.

“It’s okay,” Jisung says. He shifts, sheets rustling along with him. His hand covers Chenle’s and squeezes, then lets him go. “I don’t mind. You’re stopping Meow from getting her fat ass between us. Probably a good idea, right?”

“Uh. Sure.”

Chenle takes a long breath. Jisung’s fingers dig into his forearm, then encircle his wrist. It takes Chenle a second to realise he’s counting his freckles again, touch lingering on the spots he used to draw marker lines between in middle school. 

“What do you want to do today?”

Chenle swallows, his mouth dry. He knows what he wants to do. He wants to stay here forever, just the two of them. Forget the outside world. 

(He wants to kiss Jisung. Repeat, ad infinitum.)

He presses another kiss to the back of Jisung’s head. 

Jisung makes a noise and shuffles back into him. It’s enough movement to cause Meow to leave, a soft thud when she hits the floor.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Chenle says, but it comes out half hearted. It’s all too close. It’s all too much. It’s too early in the summer for this — they’ll have months to ruminate it. They won’t be able to dismiss it as something that happened in the dreamy blur of the holidays, something that ceases to be real the second they step foot in the school halls again.

God, they’re not even going back to school.

“Just wanted some alone time.”

“You want me to leave too?”

Jisung’s fingers dig into his skin and he tugs at his arm.

“Ah, ah. No. Stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Chenle says. Like there was ever a question. Jisung’s grip is loose again. Every part of him is warm against Chenle, and Chenle doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He has years of practice, of swallowing his pride — of swallowing his feelings — and yet Jisung just turns him into a moron. The idiot he’s always been. 

It’s the slow moments that catch him out. The here and now. Their breath in the morning air, the birdsong and cicadas buzzing. Maybe they’ll go down to the creek today. Maybe they’ll ride around town, lazy spirals on the empty roundabout. Catch a ride with someone to the next county over and go to the mall. Maybe they’ll just lie here, like Chenle wants to. 

He’s shaken out of the hazy train of thought by Jisung’s lips pressed against his knuckle. The tiniest little kiss. A pause for reaction. Another.

“You still taste like chlorine.”

It’s mumbled against the pad of his thumb. Chenle’s breathing has stopped, but his heart seems to be picking up the slack. Jisung’s tongue against his skin, his bottom lip a pillow for his fingertips. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s too scared to ask, too scared to get his hopes up.

Chenle Zhong is reckless. He’s a burning disaster, a ticking time bomb who doesn’t let his thoughts catch up to him half the time. But what he hasn’t accounted for is the possibility that Jisung Park — eighteen, brilliant, smile to light up the world, low laugh, hands made for holding, limbs wrapped around Chenle’s, home to Chenle’s heart. 

Jisung Park?

He’s a little bit reckless, too.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/dongrenle)/[cc](https://curiouscat.me/goldhorn)


End file.
